


let's start again

by aubadezayn



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Awkward Flirting, Bigotry & Prejudice, Changed!Draco, Confident Neville, First Dates, Getting Together, Herbology, Hogwarts Eighth Year, M/M, Muggle Culture, Post-Battle of Hogwarts, Smoking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-27
Updated: 2016-12-27
Packaged: 2018-09-12 17:16:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,248
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9081955
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aubadezayn/pseuds/aubadezayn
Summary: Neville's back for his 8th year after the total disaster 7th year was, and he's aiming to become a botanist/maybe teach herbology. He's in the greenhouse when Draco Malfoy, of all the people who came back, bursts in and they talk. They realize some things have changed.





	

**Author's Note:**

> hey yo, you can come chat with me about this crazy perfect (but so rare and unexpected) ship at @viiktorkrum on tumblr!
> 
> this is just a fluffy, kind of a meet-cute fic.

Neville is pruning a toxic hydrangea that makes you vomit up mice when Draco Malfoy, of all people, strolls into the greenhouse. Though he’s strolling casually Malfoy’s also slightly red with perspiration, and he presses his back to the door the moment he gets in, flattening himself against it.

 

“Malfoy?” Neville somewhat greets, pulling his gloved hands and masked face away from the blooms.

 

Malfoy’s eyes grow wide with surprise when he finally looks around the greenhouse, and then he sneers. His eyes drop back to their hateful squint, and Neville sighs. “Longbottom. So this is where the lesser half spends their time?”

 

Neville rolls his stool backwards and grabs the cover for the hydrangea. Once the glass is settled, he pulls off his gloves and his face mask. “Hello, Malfoy. This is a greenhouse, it’s where aspiring botanists spend their time.”

 

“Botanist, eh?” Malfoy comes into the greenhouse further, pulling a little black case from his coat pocket and pulling apart the little metal clasp on top. He taps it against his palm and out comes a thin, filter-less cigarette. “Why would you want to do something like that?”

 

It’s surprising that Malfoy doesn’t fly off the handle at Neville greeting him, or sassing him, but it’s even more surprising that he comes closer. He lights the cigarette with a small flick of his fingers, an impressive wandless flame appearing and lighting it.

 

“You shouldn’t smoke in here; you’ll kill the plants.” Neville doesn’t bother trying to strong arm Malfoy out, but sets about placing protective charms around the room, and a filtering spell to absorb most of the smoke.

 

“That’s not an answer to my question.” Malfoy smirks, leaning against the table next to the hydrangea and into Neville’s personal space.

 

“I like plants.” Neville finally answers numbly, breathing in Malfoy’s cigarette smoke and noticing it smells like cookies. “What do you want to do?”

 

Malfoy’s eyes widen again, the smarmy pureblood expression falling away. Several emotions flit across his face; surprise, anger, confusion, and finally settling on vulnerability. “I don’t know.”

 

Neville nods sympathetically, deciding firmly to act like this boy hadn’t tried to hex his feet together going down the stairs the other day.  “Why not?” He asks, swirling his stool over to a table a little further in the greenhouse where he has some Muggle tulips he’s been cultivating for Luna. The ridicule he’d get if Malfoy knew they weren’t magical, and they were for “Loony” Lovegood … almost made him _want_ to tell him.

 

“I’ll be an aristocrat, I suppose. We don’t exactly have careers, now do we? We…schmooze.”

 

“You schmooze?” Neville grins, Malfoy’s face going red.

 

“In a simple term, yes!” He snaps, crossing his arms, cigarette dangling between his fingers dangerously. “What does a botanist even do? You’re a glorified gardener?”

 

“More like a scientist than a gardener, I’d say. I’d specialize in magical plants probably, maybe healing ones? Or toxic ones, they’re fun.” Neville trims some weeds off the tulips, and waters them with a gentle _Aguamenti_ spell.

 

“The toxic…ones…are **_fun_**?” Malfoy asks incredulously, staring at Neville like they hadn’t been in the same classes for most of their adolescence. Then he smiles, his entire face changing, though it’s just about the same level of pompous. He stands up straight and smiles down at Neville. “Well, Longbottom, I wouldn’t have expected that from you. Nice to know you’ve got some spirit.”

 

“I’ve got plenty of spirit, Malfoy.” Neville says, realizing belatedly that he’s drowned one of the tulips. He stops the spell and tries to dry some of the water up with a spell, but it ends up dehydrating the flower, and it slumps to the bottom of the pot sadly.

 

“Oh, yes?” Malfoy asks, sidling up next to Neville, hip leaning on the table. He puffs at his cigarette, blowing the smoke away from Neville rather considerately. “I’ve never seen it.”

 

“If you’ve forgotten, you hate me.” Neville says back faux pleasantly, not bothering to move away when Malfoy sidles even closer and strokes one of the tulip’s petals.

 

“Do I?” He asks, his voice lilting upwards like he’s genuinely asking.

 

“You certainly seem to.” Neville says back, letting his deeper voice lilt up mockingly. His fellow Gryffindors come to mind suddenly, as he remembers just what people might think of this situation. If Ron or Harry, or Merlin forbid, Seamus, came into the greenhouse right now they’d see Malfoy leaning over him, smiling of all things. They wouldn’t see Neville moving away, since he wasn’t…

 

“What’s that Muggle saying?” Malfoy runs his hand, the one not holding a cigarette, through the air. “Pansy adores it, it’s most of the motivation behind her many infatuations.”

 

“Dunno.” Neville mutters, pruning some of the excess leaves and wilted petals from the flowers with gentle, slow hands.

 

“Pulling pigtails!” Malfoy snaps his fingers, nodding. “I don’t understand why anyone would pull on a hog’s tail, or what it has to do with dating, but you hang out with blood traitors, do you know?”

 

Neville immediately flares up, glaring at Malfoy. “See, _that’s_ why I think you hate me, Malfoy, and basically why everyone hates _you_.”

 

“What?” Malfoy asks, rearing back in surprise.

 

“Blood traitors?” Neville asks, standing up and crossing his arms. “Just go, Malfoy. Or I’ll get Professor Sprout to come in here and remove you, I have work to do.”

 

“Longbottom…” Malfoy mutters, looking somewhere around Neville’s ear with a firm lip and cold eyes. “I apologize, I…didn’t realize I even said it.”

 

“You should watch what you say, the war is over.”  Neville snaps, feeling a little guilty when Malfoy’s face drains of color, and his apathetic expression drops. “Sorry. That was…uncalled for.”

 

He apologizes because he’s a good person, and he doesn’t like hurting people – not even Malfoy – but he also does it because maybe, maybe he just needs a good example. Malfoy shrugs, sucking on his cigarette for a good long moment and blowing the smoke away from Neville again.

 

“So what does it mean?” He asks again, quietly, not looking at Neville but determinedly at the tulips to their side. Neville eases back down into his seat and Malfoy leans against the table, looking casual but strained.

 

“It’s not about literal pig tails, like on a hog. It’s a little girl’s hairstyle, I’m sure you’ve seen it.” Neville holds up two hands next to his ears and sort of cups them awkwardly. “I don’t quite know why they’re even called pig tails since pigs don’t have two…but it basically means a little boy pulling on a little girl’s hair because he likes her and wants her attention.”

 

“Ah,” Malfoy says, leaving it at that.

 

“It’s quite sexist.” Neville muses, looking off towards the tulips. “If you really think about it, tells little girls that they should think violence is cute.”

 

“That’s true.” Malfoy agrees, and Neville is shocked. He could have stayed silent, but he’d agreed instead.

 

“Why did you bring this up anyway?” Neville asks, realizing why they were even discussing this. He changes routes quickly though when something else occurs to him. “Why are you even here, Malfoy? Was someone chasing you?”

 

“Oh no, no I was just. Uh.” Malfoy stalls, eyes frantically searching the room before stilling in the next split second. “I was just trying to avoid Blaise; he’s been on me for a week about something.”

 

“Blaise Zabini?” Neville clarifies, thinking back to the extremely tall and very intimidating darker skinned boy in Slytherin he’d seen with Malfoy before. Zabini was in his Transfiguration class, and while Neville desperately tried to change Trevor into the things McGonagall requested, Zabini was able to turn his Eagle into anything with just a flick of his hand. It was impressive, he had to admit. “What’s he on about?”

 

“Just something personal, and that I’d rather not be forced to do.” Malfoy answers vaguely, smoking his cigarette.

 

“Tell him to bugger off.” Neville suggests helpfully, realizing that they’re chatting like friends. He’d hoped that during 8th year, the house divisions would blend – as a result of the atrocities they’d all faced – but he’d never imagined he could be hanging out with Malfoy like they were two regular blokes.

 

Malfoy laughs, surprisingly deep compared to his normal speaking voice, and Neville chuckles along with him. “I might try that.”

 

“Well…if you’ll promise to watch what you say,” Neville starts, giving Malfoy a hard stare. “You can hide from him in here any time. I’m here alone mostly, and no one usually comes in but me, and sometimes Luna.”

 

“Lovegood?” Malfoy asks, a little familiar snideness slipping into his voice.

 

“Yes.” Neville says firmly, giving Malfoy a hard look.

 

“I’ve heard you and her are…” Malfoy trails off, giving Neville a speculative look in return.

 

“Friends.”

 

“Oh good.” Malfoy says instantly, eyes going wide immediately after the words slip out.

 

“Good?” Neville asks confused.

 

“I meant, uh, having friends is good. Friends are great.”

 

“Having a boyfriend would be better, I think.” Neville says casually, ignoring how hot his cheeks have gone.

 

“Oh.” Malfoy says, mouth shaping a perfect o before he puffs at his cigarette. It’s nearly all the way gone.

 

“Yeah.” Neville replies eloquently, wishing he could sink into the tulips and disappear. He should have kept his mouth shut, stuck to comfortable conversation like Blaise Zabini and hogs.

 

“Do you like butter beer?” Malfoy asks suddenly, stubbing the end of his cigarette out on the floor under his boot and picking it up.

 

“Yeah, I suppose so. Why?” Neville asks, looking at Malfoy suspiciously.

 

“Do you like Hogsmeade?” Malfoy asks again, steamrolling Neville’s question. He suddenly looks very determined, pointy chin in the air, grey-blue eyes sharp and bright. Neville realizes how close they’ve become; he has to crane his neck to look up at Malfoy, who is practically standing on his shoes.

 

“Yes, yes. Is this 21 questions?”

 

“I don’t know what that is, but would you like to do it with me in Hogsmeade over butterbeer?” Malfoy asks, rushing through the words till they nearly fly over Neville’s head.

 

“What?” He asks dumbly.

 

“Do you. Want to. Go. To Hogsmeade. With me?” Malfoy says slowly, like Neville’s being ridiculous. “Butterbeer? 21 questions, whatever that might be? Optional snogging.”

 

“What?” Neville asks again, this time not because he’s not heard him, but because he surely can’t have heard what he thinks he has. _Draco Malfoy_ could not possibly have said the word snogging to him, implying that if it happened, it would be between the two of them.

 

“Oh, never mind!” Malfoy snaps childishly, throwing up his hands and turning on his heel to stalk towards the door. “Daft Gryffindors, I swear to Merlin!”

 

“Malfoy, Malfoy wait!” Neville shouts, popping up from his stool and chasing after the Slytherin. Malfoy stops abruptly at the door, twisting around to glare at Neville. It’s without his usual hateful fire, and filled with something more akin to hurt and nerves.

 

“What about your friends?” Neville asks quietly, struck suddenly by how plush and pink Malfoy’s lips are despite the bitterly cold winter. “Or mine?”

 

“We don’t need to report back to them necessarily, but Pansy’s dating that Finnigan anyway so she’d be quite the hypocrite.” Malfoy sniffs, crossing his arms, still clutching the stomped on cigarette instead of littering.

 

“Seamus and Parkinson, I would never have thought…” Neville stops. “I suppose I never would have thought of you and me, either.”

 

“Just say no, if you want to.” Malfoy says, but then he holds up a finger and points accusingly at Neville. “But, I’ll have you know, you’re missing out.”

 

It’s so very Malfoy that Neville can’t help but grin. It startles, and riles, Malfoy who glares at him furiously. Neville can’t stop smiling.

 

He approaches Malfoy slowly, like one might approach a real snake, and he holds out his hand. It’s slightly dirty from the flowers and fertilizer, and his nails are worn down to the skin. He has a family ring on that’s dented, and old, and nothing like the similar one on Malfoy’s finger that shines with care and expense. A few string bracelets, some from Luna, hang off his wrist. He has a big mottled scar on his hand from when he’d spilt a potion on it recently.

 

“Hi,” He smiles lopsidedly, but friendly. “I’m Neville Longbottom.”

 

Malfoy freezes, staring at him like he’s grown a third head. “I know who you are…”

 

“ _Nope_ , we’ve never met. You never bullied me, I never let you. There’s no inter-house tension, there’s no war. I’m just…Neville Longbottom.” Neville introduces himself again, jerking his hand out towards Malfoy again.

 

Malfoy reaches out slowly and takes his hand. His hand is pale and soft, like it’s never touched anything rough or hard before.  His nails are manicured, or at least very well taken care of, and his family ring shines proudly. His sleeve is pulled down, but Neville doesn’t doubt there’s probably an expensive watch underneath.

 

Malfoy’s hand is warm though, and gentle when it shakes his.

 

“Draco Malfoy. Very nice to meet you.” Malfoy greets him, a small gentle smile spreading across his usually cold face. It’s like the first burst of sunshine after a very cold, dark winter.

 

“Would you like to get a butterbeer with me? Optional snogging.” Neville asks, grinning as he steals Malfoy’s words.

 

Malfoy sighs playfully, and says, “If you insist.”

**Author's Note:**

> thanks for reading, please comment if you enjoyed!


End file.
